


The Mask

by CrazyPencilz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Drinking to Cope, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, I Tried, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jack keeps getting interrupted, Love Triangle, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past relationship with reaper, Romance, Slow Burn, You don't want to be princess, angsty, but also can kick butt, clair de lune because symbolism, mentor zenyatta, reaper is a jerk, two identities, your a princess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyPencilz/pseuds/CrazyPencilz
Summary: You have two identities. You're a masked princess during the week, but during the weekends you work at Overwatch as a spy. The problem? Overwatch doesn't know that you're a princess who's heir to her throne. Furthermore after Talon attempted to kidnap you and Parliament begging you to get extra security, you asked Overwatch to send you some bodyguards. Can you keep them from figuring out who you truly are?





	1. The Meeting

A delicate lacy black mask. Elegant. Mysterious. Daring. You wore the mask every day, from the time you awoke to the very last minute before bed. No one knew what you looked like, well what you look like now. Were you beautiful? Or the ugliest thing in the world? They took anyone who had pictures of you and burned them. No identity... that’s what you wanted. Though being a princess about to be a queen was sadly ironic. All you wanted was to hide, but you’d be in the public’s eye forever.  
The mask’s soft fabric tickles your nose as it lies on your face. Your personal maids pull your sash tight, fastening your ball gown on your body. You sigh as you regard yourself in your mirror. The dress is snow white. The constricting satin keeps your movements limited and your skin itches as you stared at the floral lace.

“You look absolutely ravishing, lady l/n,” says Seraphina. 

You chuckle. “As you always say, Phina.” You step away from the mirror and amble to the window. “Are they really coming today?”

Overwatch had sent bodyguards to protect you since Talon kept attacking you and your grand kingdom. Talon’s attacks have been getting life-threatening, especially after the kidnap attempt on you, so you employed the recalled Overwatch to guard you until your coronation.

You lower your gaze from the rising sun. Safety was good, but it would be very hard to leave the castle for your other job. Revealing that kind of secret to the world didn’t seem like a grand idea especially in the scheme of things. Considering that you were an actual agent of Overwatch yourself... Though Overwatch didn’t know you were the heir to a throne or your actual identity.

“Of course, lady l/n,” Azura pauses and giggles as she admires you, “Once they look at you, they’ll never take their eyes off of you.”

“Oh god, I hope not,” you mutter. 

“What was that, milady?” Azura asks. You smoothed the folds in your dress and smiled at your ladies-in-waiting.

“I will not need you today until at night to remove my garments, so...” You clasp your hands together. “You are dismissed.”

“We bid you farewell, milady.” They chime before leaving the room timidly. 

You glance back at the mirror in disdain. These shitty dresses really do bother you. Damn, you really needed your liquor stash or your ice skates. You frown. But that was all in your other room. Maybe a vacation was in order, but would parliament really let you get away with that? 

Thump. Thump. Thump. A small knock emits from behind your room’s door. 

“Yes?”

“Ah, your royal highness, the bodyguards are here and waiting in the parlor. Please come down soon,” one butler said. 

“I will.” 

You grabbed your tiara and gently place it on your head. Though you do know the bodyguards, they sure as hell didn’t know you. You swallow, feeling the loneliness course through your bones. You smooth out your dress. Straightening your back, you enter the hallway and go to the parlor.

The parlor room is fairly empty. Two familiar men sat in the plush velvet chairs. You smile beneath your mask as you watched them rise as you glide into the room. McCree and Hanzo rose up to bow at you. You raised an eyebrow at their normal battle attire. Surely they could’ve at least worn something more formal. You could’ve sworn that Morrison told them to dress appropriately. 

“You two are my bodyguards?” you question. They nod at you. “Then do introduce yourselves.”

They were so obedient and oblivious. Indubitably they must’ve recognized your voice? Albeit, they didn’t! It was amusing too. You thought only Morrison could order them around. It felt great, but very weird at the same time. 

 

“The name’s Jesse, Jesse McCree. It’ll be a pleasure to be protecting a princess.” He winks. 

A rather boring job title might you add. You nod at him and turn your head to peer at Hanzo. You heard that only McCree would be a permanent bodyguard, the others would switch out every so often.

“Your royal highness, I am Hanzo. I will be guarding you for a couple of weeks before another takes my place.”

“Certainly,” you say, taking a seat in a chair that faced them. You cross your ankles and usher them to sit back down. 

“I want to go over some ground rules before we start the day. Since I am purely a diplomatic symbol, I usually just stay around here. You’re free to do whatever unless I go outside as that’s where my first attempted kidnapping occurred. I will dismiss you at eight pm sharp on weekdays and on weekends I’d rather you not show up at all.

My mask stays on no matter what. I don’t care what happens. Even if I need medical attention that requires my mask coming off then one of my ladies-in-waiting shall help me. They are trained in helping me in any situation. That’s really it, I’m sure someone else has told you the more formal rules.” 

Hanzo made no expression, but you’re sure he’s highly annoyed at your rules. McCree frowned. His eyebrows knit together as he inspects you. You glance at the clock breaking from McCree’s not wavering gaze. Your eyes widen at the time, you stand up in shock. 

“Excuse me, boys, I am late for a meeting,” you say before gracefully dashing out of the room. McCree follows you discreetly as you maneuver through the bustling hallways. 

When you make it to your room, you give a glimpse at McCree. He stops and grins at you, catching your eyes. You want to glare at him and tell him to go fuck off. Yet princess duties trump your own wants.

“You know you don’t have to be near me, right?” you ask. You clasp your hands behind your back to keep you from crossing them. ‘Princesses never cross their arms’, your mother would say.

“Just wanna know more about the masked princess,” he simpers and drawls closer to you. “And I didn’t hear about any meetin’ with parliament today.”

Shit. That observant bastard. That’s why Morrison put him in charge of bodyguarding. McCree was observant, clever, and great at going incognito. Sadly, that means your secrets better be covered in their own noir lace mask.

“I was talking about a meeting with my piano of course. I am getting rather rusty due to my studies,” you redirect. “Now if you excuse me.” You open your door. 

“I was hoping you’d let me sit in on yer practice.” He took another step near you. 

“I guess that’s fine, but first I need to call somebody...” You bite your lip and let him enter your room. 

The black piano sits in the room's corner, stacks of sheet music piled on top. Books are scattered around the room with various papers and notes laying in and on top of them. Your bed is neatly made and everything is fairly clean. Your ladies-in-waiting do clean for you but you didn’t like them touching your books. Especially as one of those stacks is hollowed out and hold tiny liquor bottles for those stressful, lonely days. 

McCree sits on your desk chair. His eyes surveying everything and you. He is definitely observing you. You didn’t know why. Surely, he couldn’t tell that you were a part of Overwatch, that you were one of his fellow allies. If they knew you were a princess about to be a queen, you wouldn’t be able to do anything. As you are the heir and you need to be there for your people. Couldn’t someone else rule for you? Did they really need you?

You deeply exhale and grasp your cellphone. You dial in Morrison’s number and eye McCree. He acts nonchalant as if he’s truly getting to know you. Excusing yourself, you go to your balcony for privacy, but really to keep him from hearing your conversation.

“y/n?” Morrison questions. His voice tinged with drowsiness. You wonder if he worked late the night before.

“You wanted to ask me something?” you say, leaning on the white fence that stood around the tiny balcony.

“Yes, there are two things I need to know. First, are you prepared for Saturday?” 

You rolled your eyes. He didn’t have to ask you every week. 

“Yes, sir. That I am.”

“Good. I ask because I barely see you anymore, I never know if you’ve been training or what you’re doing,” he facilitates as if he read your mind.

You smile. “Don’t worry, Morrison. I’m always training.”

“Then, I wanted to know if you want to bodyguard princess y/n after Hanzo?” You hear him close something in the background. 

You lean onto the white fence. Glancing at McCree, he’s still watching you. His brown eyes peering at you from under his cowboy hat. He hadn’t moved from his spot. He wouldn’t have heard you. Your eyes widen. Maybe he recognized your voice! No... He couldn’t... If he figured it out then Morrison would already know as well. 

“I don’t know... I’m more good at espionage, are you sure the princess would even like me?” Hopefully, he’d understand that you’re not comfortable with this mission. 

“You’ll be fine, y/n. You both have the same first name, I’m sure that would help with conversation,” he grunts. You hear him typing into something. Your eyes flutter close as the rhythmic sound emits through your phone. 

“Am I interrupting your work?” 

“If you were interrupting my work, I wouldn’t have answered.”

“But you always answer me,” you tease, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips. “I bet it’s ‘cause I’m such a good agent.”

He clears his throat. “Whatever. Just show up on Saturday. You’re dismissed.” 

“Sure thing, old man.” 

You leave the balcony. McCree raises his eyebrows, a puzzled expression clearly shown on his rugged face. You saunter to the piano, making sure never to glance in McCree’s direction. Your lace black mask keeping the poker face hidden beneath it.

You search through the music sheets and chose to play Moonlight Sonata. You crack your knuckles, hearing the soft pops of your fingers and sit down. The music flows through you, but after a few notes, you hit the wrong key. You wince as the noise penetrates your ears.

“Yer really are gettin’ rusty,” McCree comments. Your eyes snap to his brown eyes. 

“It’s not really my thing.” You shrug, your fingers dancing on the keys. 

He cocked his eyebrow. “Then what is your thing?” 

You grin. Your thing was not a “princess” hobby. Your mother made sure you knew that. Too athletic. Not enough skill needed. What does she know? You’d sneak out when you were little and skate on the lake during the winter.

That ice under your feet as you glide through the rink. It was cold but it made you feel so free. No scrutiny. No rules. No punishments. You’d dance the entire time while doing simple or complex spins and jumps. Heaven. That’s what it is.

“Dancing,” you lie. You smooth out your dress, watching his expression carefully. 

“Dancing, huh? I guess it makes sense. Though no one really sees ya durin’ yer balls.” 

“Obviously not, there masquerade balls. No one knows what mask I’ll wear,” you say, nodding at your mask collection.

He whistles as he gawks at the countless amount of masks. “You’re next one is this Saturday, right?”

You nod at him. “It’s more like a gala for my people, no masks will be worn. I won’t even be there.”

He frowns at you. “Won’t yer people be mad?” 

You shake your head. You would be at the gala, but not as the princess. No. Tomorrow you would be yourself.

“The kingdom knows that I don’t like social events.” 

“Why? Is it because of your“He’s interrupted by a loud ring.

It’s your alarm. You jump at the sudden noise. Your clock reads noon, it’s time for your awful lessons. Lurching off the piano bench, you turn the alarm off.

“I have to get to my lessons, feel free to look through my room.” You rush out of the room to head toward the library.

The library is quiet. Filled with thousands of books, thousands of memories, and it always brings you such sweet melancholy. Your tutor paces around the room near a large chalkboard. A stern expression settles on his face as he notices you. Behind him was none other than Hanzo. Hanzo’s deep in thought, his eyes cast down focused on the plain carpet. 

“Your Highness, you have to start showing up on time! You’re about to be the queen, can’t you take your studies more seriously?” he lectures. Hanzo’s head snaps up and eyes you disapprovingly.

You clasp your hands together and straighten your spine so you could look taller.

“I have always taken my studies seriously. I am a very busy woman so I am tardy occasionally, so if you can’t be patient with your future queen then there are millions like you that can take your place.” 

You narrow your eyes at the man. He takes a step back and fiddles with his hands.

“I am sorry, your highness,” he says.

“You are forgiven, now onto the lesson.” You sit down, smoothing your dress yet again. A nervous habit of yours. You fold your hands and lay them on your laps. Hanzo smirks at you.

“After the unfortunate event, the Parliament wants you to have extra protection.” he gestures at Hanzo. “We’ve gotten bodyguards, but Hanzo thinks that you also need to know how to defend yourself.”

The corner of your lips turns upward. “Oh? He wants to teach me how to defend myself?” You simper. 

“If that’s fine with you, your highness,” Hanzo says, standing up. You want to chuckle or tease him, but decide not to. Duties first...

“Yes, it’s fine. Let me get properly dressed first.” 

He tells you that he’ll be waiting in the garden, so you head to your room. McCree’s not there anymore. You let out a sigh and take the lace mask off. You undo the sash, unbutton the back, and step out of the heavy dress. You eye your wardrobe. Skirts, dresses, and formal clothes hang neatly in it. You scowl. 

“Don’t fret, lady y/n. I have some workout clothes for you.” Seraphina walks into the room, holding some black leggings and a tank top. 

You retrieved it with a giggle. “It doesn’t look like my Overwatch clothing at all, thank you Phina.” 

“I’d never let you down.” She winks. She grabs your dress off the floor. “I’ll go wash this, please excuse me.”

You put it on and admire the expensive fabric. Your Overwatch training clothes comprised an old pair of shorts and some cotton shirt Phina used to wear around town. You grab a lighter, more breathable mask and gently place it on your face.

The garden is bursting with a variety of flowers and herbs. Birds of paradises, tulips, and ravishing yellow roses blow in the wind. They beg to leave the dirt and fly in the wind, but their roots hold them down. 

Hanzo shoots arrows onto a target; he’d hit dead center each time which would telescope his arrows. His eyebrows scrunch as he focuses and pulls another arrow in his quiver. McCree stood watching him, spinning his Peacekeeper in his right hand.

You clap when the arrow hits the target thoroughly impressed. You weren’t good at archery and you didn’t really enjoy it. You liked guns and your aim seemed pretty good.

“Am I learning archery?” you ask, drawing the man’s attention to you. 

“I wanted to start with hand to hand combat first,” Hanzo says. You quirk your eyebrow. Did you not look like you could kick his ass? Did a princess automatically mean weak? Humph.

“Oh, okay.” 

He retaught you the basics. You acted interested and like you never knew how to fight in your life. After a few hours, he decides that you’re ready to spar. 

“McCree, you should spar with her first,” he says. 

McCree drops his cigar, stomping it out on the ground. “I won’t be easy on ya, darlin’.”

“Alright, let’s give this a try,” you mutter. He gives you a shit-eating grin as he strides up to you.

The two of you get into position. After Hanzo says start, McCree charges forward. As he gets close, you gracefully place your hands on his biceps and hum flirtatiously.

“Hi,” you giggle. He stops for a second. You kick his knees and he tumbles downward. You pin his arms behind his head and stare at Hanzo. Your breathing very uneven.

“Do I win?” you muse. Hanzo’s mouth is open, and he’s bug-eyed. 

“Yes... you’ve won, your highness.”

You get up and Hanzo helps McCree up. He’s just as stunned as Hanzo. His jaw all the way to the floor. You roll your eyes at them. 

“I told you I take my studies seriously,” you tell Hanzo and dust yourself off. 

“Damn, darlin’, I didn’t think ya win.” McCree rubs his arms. 

The rest of the time, you continued to spar with the two of them. Sometimes you won and other times they kicked your ass. When you were walking back to your room, you had a genuine smile on your face.

You truly loved Overwatch, maybe you should spur with Morrison one of these days. You want to call him too. But, you don’t want to interrupt his work. You know he’d answer though. He was always there.

Your ladies-in-waiting come to grab your dirty clothes from today. Then they unlock the window near your bed for you so you could sneak out tomorrow to get to Overwatch’s base. Your missions were mostly on weekends so that you could perform your duties as a princess during the week. Seraphina had even given you a key so you could lock your room from the inside so no one would bother you. They left after preparing you a hot bath.

Your phone lights up and rings. It was Morrison’s number. You grin at it before picking it up. 

“Hello?”

“Y/n, I never got to ask you, uh, a question,” his rough voice grunts. 

“What, another question? Sheesh.” you chuckle. You walk to your mirror and take off your mask. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to do somethi-“ 

A loud knock comes from your door. You jump. Ugh. You’re always so busy. 

“Sorry, I got to go! Take care of yourself, okay? Bye.” you cut him off and hang up the phone. You put your mask on and open your door. 

You gawk as you see McCree standing at the door. Good thing you put back on the mask. He winks at you.

“Just wanted to say goodnight to the notorious masked princess.” He beams. 

“Ah, okay. Goodnight,” you say. He goes to say something else but you close the door.

Now, where was that liquor stash you hidden?


	2. The Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are ya okay, Y/N?" he asks, wiping some tears off of your wet face. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.
> 
> "I'm not okay, Jessie." You've had enough social interaction, enough open wounds, and you failed your mission. "I'm not okay at all," you blubber.
> 
> "Let's get ya home," he comforts, bending down to pick you up....

Diamonds, shimmering like stars in the sky, intertwine into your necklace’s elaborate design. Those scintillating jewels line your gala’s walls and floors extravagantly. These crystalline gems were meant to be there. Unlike you. Masses of people dance and converse at the ballroom, adorned in the finest silk and flaunting their wealth with well-placed trinkets. Your raven dress with the leg slit stuck out like a ruby in a sea of sapphires. It was clearly not as ornate as the others nor as modest. Except, you knew how to work your magic. You could make the dress sparkle in the mundane sea of evening dresses. You knew how to make the dress define your form and curves. 

Swaying your hips ever so lightly, you deftly saunter your way to your prize. He, in the center, glances at you every so often, outlining your body with his sunken eyes. You’ve been giving a great show, and he’s been eating it up. You lay your fingers onto your ear discreetly, tugging at the tiny, lustrous earring. You purse your lips as you squeeze a diminutive button on it. Your eyes gravitate towards McCree who signals at you before making his way through the crowd.

McCree maneuvers his way to you rigidly. Occasionally he’d apologize if he bumped into someone or he’d straighten his suit awkwardly. McCree, like you, despised galas, shunned wearing suits and avoided these people. Your lips lift into a simper as he drawls nearer. None of the Overwatch men were free to go tonight except McCree who declined your pleas until Morrison ordered him to go with you. You inspect your prize again. As his eyes reach your gaze, you wink and lick your bottom lip. He smirks and then works his way to you. Excellent.

McCree grazes your shoulder and you offer him your hand. He takes it, his palm sweaty with discomfort. You squeeze it, knowing he’d rather be puffing a cigar or drinking somewhere. He and you practiced this shortly. Hopefully, he didn’t mess it up. Your prize’s eyebrows furrow but then he smirks at you and slinks over to you. He’s excited about the game. You tear your eyes away from him and narrow your eyes at McCree.

“We’re ready,” you murmur. 

McCree turns his head to the right to peek at the man. Your eyes widen and you shift your hand to his chin holding it forward.

“No! If you look at him then he’ll know something is up.” You sigh and free your hand from his bearded chin. “Follow the plan.” You tug him forward.

“Are ya sure he’s gonna even follow us, darlin’?” he asks, fixing his tie with his open arm. You nod and smirk at McCree.

“Oh yes, I’m quite sure,” you mutter, hastening your step. “He enjoys something he can’t have.” You chuckle. 

“And how do ya know that?” McCree intensifies his gaze, his left eyebrow raised.

“A lady has her secrets... oh and Morrison gave me some files on him,” you answer. “He’s a typical spoiled ass, wants his cake and wants to eat it too.”

You two arrive at the door and McCree opens it for you, freeing your interlocked hands in the process.

Stepping outside, the crisp air hits your body overflowing you with chills. It’s secluded outside, everybody was inside indulging in the heat while you stand in the cold. The car that’s supposed to pick McCree and you up is late.

A lump forms at the back of your throat. You swallow stifling the urge to freak out and gape at McCree. That guy is super nasty and you don’t want him to figure out what the two of you were up too.

“Don’t let him hurt me too much, okay?” You softly smile at him. He lifts his eyebrows again. You already know what he will ask. 

“Just going to stall for time. He’d run away if he realized what we’re doing,” you reassure.

“We can take him down, no need to get hurt, darlin’,” he objects. You shake your head.

“Nope. I don’t want him calling for backup. We only need him.” You hear the door swing open, nearly bumping you in the head. You take a step back, putting on a fake smile.

“You did take your sweet time over here,” You coax. “I got so bored, I had to settle for him,” you pout and gesture to McCree. He’s glaring at the man, crossing his arms. You smother a snicker and put your arm gingerly on McCree.

“I didn’t think I would see you here,” a raucous voice says. You flinch, swinging around to the voice. Shit. You should’ve known Reaper would show up during your work. Narrowing your eyes, you glare at him. He’s leaning on the wall and beneath that mask, you were sure he was smirking. He has one gun aimed at you and the other at McCree.

“Fuck! It’s a setup,” The man blurts out and dashes toward the street. Fuck! You seethe and clasp your gun from the holster under your dress. Reaper chuckles before disappearing.

“Go find out where the car is! I got this!” You proclaim to McCree before running towards the direction of your prize. There goes your hope of having a simple job today.

You watch as he sprints into a dark alleyway. You grin and turn into it. You face your gun at the cornered man and sway your free finger at him.

“You naughty boy,” you chime, strutting towards him. “Running away from the girl you wanted? Damn, that’s cold.”

The man moves back into the wall, stretching for something in his back pocket. You frown and you cock the gun.

“Ah, ah, ah! Let me see those pretty hands of yours,” you purr.

His eyes lock to yours and he gradually pulls out his hand until you see him grasping a grenade. Your eyes widen. He brought a grenade?! What in the actual fuck. Those fucking files were a lie. He had no backup and no actual gun. He’s inexperienced...or stupid. You snort. He doesn’t like close fighting and the way he shakes as he clutches his weapon.

“Here I thought you were a dangerous man, but all I see is a coward,” you taunt.

He goes to toss it, not even bothering to pull out the pin, but you charge him. He stiffens before dropping the grenade to pop you right in your eye. You flinch in pain but then repay the favor, punching him in his rigid jaw. He staggers back, his head cracking into the brick wall behind him. He rubs his head as he recovers. You swiftly pluck up the grenade and again go to strike his jaw, but he dodges it. Your fist connects with the wall.

“Ow! What the shit!” You grimace and swing your hand around the air trying to stop the pain. He snickers and makes his escape. His body crashes right into Reaper. Reaper grabs him and you discern that he’s about to teleport away. You scowl, pushing your curled hair back.

“Hands off, he’s my bitch,” you fume and get out your pistol from your holster as you had put it back to fight the coward. Reaper chuckles and stays in his place.

“Mi alma.” He shallowly exhales, moving his body to you but he halts, “You’re in Overwatch now? Whatever happened to us?”

You watch as your prize contests in Reaper’s arms. You cast your eyes down, looking away from the scene. You clench your fists and snarl at him.

“To us? We were never an ‘us’,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Don’t lie to yourself, mi alma.” 

He snaps the man’s neck with ease. He drops it and kicks his limp body away from himself. You wince. Your eyes watch the body, not regarding Reaper who draws closer to you. He seizes your chin forcing you to focus on the mask’s eyeholes. You tried to make out his eyes in the dark, yearning to see his hooded eyes.

“See, mi hermosa, you’re still mine,” he gloats in your ear.

For a moment, you remember all the times you were his. In the library before your lessons, in your bedroom while playing the piano, and in vacant halls. Back when you were naïve and innocent. Honestly, you still are. You’d relish the way his arms coil around your back, giving you a tight embrace. The way he felt like freedom. Away from your problems. Away from your crown.

Gabe was still only sweet for you... right? He still loved you... right? Hell, you admit you were still not over him even after all that he did to you. You return the embrace, setting your head on his firm chest.

But he lied to you. He wasn’t a regular security guard. No. He was a member of Talon. That flash of his betrayal, his destruction roams into your mind. The day he left you to die for wanting to be free. He’s possessive, dominating, forever seeking to be in control of you. You shove him away.

“No!” You back away from him. “Get the hell away from me!” you holler, lifting the gun up to shoot him but he disappears as a bullet, not yours, zips by him.

You blink and blankly stare at McCree. He puts his gun away, steps over the lifeless body, and careens over to you. His stride is steady.

“Are ya okay, Y/N?” he asks, wiping some tears off of your damp face. You swing your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I’m not okay, Jessie.” You’ve had enough social interaction, enough open wounds, and you failed your mission. “I’m not okay at all,” you blubber.

“Let’s get ya home,” he comforts, bending down to pick you up.

“Don’t, Jesse,” you sniffle, “No one can see me like this, please,” you plead, slumping your shoulders.

He studies you for a second before agreeing to your plea. You straighten your shoulders, dry your tears away, and smooth the wrinkles off of your dress. After a moment of calming yourself, you softly smile at McCree. He gives a reassuring smile back before extending his arm to you. You take it and interlock arms; you lean your head on his arm and walk out of the dingy alleyway. Today you would be a tad exposed, tomorrow your guard would be fully up again.

“Thanks, Jesse,” you mumble as you two made your way to the car that finally arrived.

Genji sat in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers as McCree helps you into your seat. McCree walks over to the other side and gets in. You lay your head on the window and shut your eyes from the world.

“Where’s the guy we needed for information?” Genji questions as he starts the car and moves into the street. Your eyes flutter open. 

“Reaper,” McCree answers before pulling out a cigar from a box in his pocket. Genji scowls.

“Talon was all over the place today,” Genji says, turning on his right turn signal, “Almost everybody was defeated today, it’s like they have a spy on the inside or something.”

McCree glimpses at you before lighting his cigar. He takes a deep hit and blows out the warm smoke.

“Yeah,” you whisper as you rub your eyes. “Speaking of espionage, why the hell was the car not here when I needed it?” you query.

Genji drums his fingers on the steering wheel and glances at you from the rearview window. 

“Some talon member interrupted me. She seemed very keen on keeping me from that party.” 

Genji scratches his helmet. “I guess that was some important intel,” he utters.

“Damn and that guy was putty in my hands.” You cross your arms. “I was so close to luring him to the car.”

Genji chuckles. “It’s kind of amazing how you can switch from being a seducer into this.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean by this?” 

“It’s just you’re so aloof to everyone but 76, Zenyatta, and occasionally me,” he responds. 

You scowl. 

“Whatever,” you huff, turning your head to the window. “I get my work done, and that’s all that matters.”

For the rest of the trip, everyone’s silent. All you hear is a tiny hum of the engine in the car and the noise on McCree blowing out cigar smoke. He’d take a deep draw of his cigar and then leisurely blow the smoke out. The meticulous action bothers you, for some reason. You clench your jaw, resisting the urge to toss it out of the window. It had to be because of Reaper. Gabriel always irks you, but he’d also make you feel really good...

Man, you needed some vodka, whiskey, or something stronger.

The car pulls into a secluded roadway and a huge base comes into view. Home. Genji pulls into the driveway, rolling down the window as he coasts up to the guarded gate. 

“Verification?” A robotic voice, Athena, asks. 

“Genji, McCree, and y/n reporting back,” Genji states.

“You may enter. 76 requests y/n and McCree in his office.”

You roll your eyes. Late night requests suck when you just wanted to get wasted and cry about your problems. The best way to cope in your opinion.

The gate opens and Genji parks the car. You open the door and climb out of the vehicle. You sulk at the entrance of the base. Perhaps you could stop on your way to Morrison’s office to get a drink? You mince over to the entrance. You wonder what would be better to drink, vodka gave you a pleasant buzz but whiskey helped you forget. You decide on taking a shot of vodka before you made your way to Morrison. 

“Wait up, darlin’,” McCree calls from behind you. You pause and pout. There goes the idea of taking a large shot of vodka. Why won’t he leave you alone?

He beams as he strides his way to you. You give a small smile back and steadily walk into the entrance alongside McCree. 

The two of you stroll through the base quietly, not saying a word to each other. You flatten out your dress. When you glimpse your room, your shoulders slump. 

“y/n?” 

You hum in response, gazing at the dimly lit hallway. The destination stood almost in front of you. The sooner you got there, the better.

“What happened with Reaper?” he asks. Your eyes grow wide. 

“He tried to kill me,” you coax, running some fingers through your hair as you relax your face. “I’m glad you saved me, McCree.” 

You study McCree. His eyes aim at the ground. His eyebrows knit together. Your stomach flips. Did he hear something he shouldn’t of? You grasp his arm and simper at him. 

“I mean it. I thought I was a goner.” You gaze up at him, trying to get some eye contact. “I guess, I need to repay you back soon.”

His deep-set eyes fall into your own. You trace his face. Dark circles lay under his eyes. His brows are so scrunched together, that little creases settle on his tanned nose. His umber hair is messy and nearly naked without his cowboy hat. 

You frown. “Let’s get a drink after this, you look like you need it,” you blurt out.

Your eyes go wide. You gape at him as he chuckles. His eyes bright as a grin spreads through his face. Your cheeks flush, regretting your words.

“I mean... I mean if you want to of course,” you vacillate.

“I’d like that,” he says, still beaming. 

You smile at him. Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you give a genuine smile. You set your gaze towards Morrison’s office and sigh. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take forever. 

McCree knocks on Morrison’s door. You distinguish the sound of a pen scrawling its way through the paper. He’s busy. 

“Enter,” he roughly says.

McCree walks in. You follow behind, closing the door behind you. Morrison sits in a leather desk chair. His visor off and on his desk. His eyes half-lidded as he stares at an open file in front of him. His left hand props his chin up. His eyes weary, but he continues writing.

“Hey Morrison, long night huh?” you say, sitting down in front of him. McCree sits in the chair next to you, arms crossed around him.

“You could say that again,” Morrison murmurs, raising his gaze so he could stare into your eyes.

“How was the mission?” he inquires. You rub your neck, shifting your weight in your seat. 

“It was bad...” you lower your gaze, “Reaper was there.”

Morrison’s eyes flash. His nostrils flare and he frowns. He had seen you that day, knew what Reaper had done to you. You lean your body over to him so you can rest your hand on his arm.

“Hey,” you console, “I’m fine. McCree’s fine. And there are always more people to get information,” 

Morrison nods. His blue eyes resting in yours. His expression relaxes. You remove your hand from Morrison’s firm arm. 

“Uh, what did ya want, 76?” McCree questions. His mouth turned down as his eyes bounce between the two of you.

Morrison snaps his eyes to McCree before glancing at the ground. He clears his throat before regaining his posture. He leans down to a drawer and pulls out a file on a candid photo of a man. A new target. You gaze at the target, gleaming at it. 

“We need some information on talon, they seem to be popping up more and more these days.” He rubs his temples. “So, you, y/n, and one more person will go obtain it.”

You hum and think of who you should pick to go along with you.

“Who do you think should go along with us, Morrison?” you query.

“Well, I think maybe I cou-“ he says as his office door opens. 

“Hanzo?” you say as you see him at the entrance.

Hanzo strolls in with a blank stare. His whole posture stiff and his lips pressed tightly together. You notice an arrow missing from his quiver and speckles of blood on his cheek. You smile at him. 

You liked missions with him. He’s always quiet, didn’t care for conversations. He just enjoyed getting the job done. Plus, he seemed to be okay with how you dealt with your targets. 

“Mission successful,” he says. Hanzo stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “He’s in the interrogation room.” Hanzo turns to leave.

“Wait!” you shout. Hanzo stops, narrowing his eyes at you. You stifle a giggle at his irritation and tilt your head to Morrison.

“Hanzo should go along with us,” you look at Morrison, “He’s very efficient, I think he might be one of the few Overwatch members to complete their mission today...” 

Morrison slumps, grinding his teeth. He watches Hanzo. 

“It’s basically like the mission today, nothing special,” Morrison dissuades. 

“Good.” Hanzo rubs his neck, “I’ve been on too many tough missions lately.” 

Morrison sighs. “Fine. Hanzo will go with you two. All three of you are dismissed,” he professes, returning to his papers.

Hanzo leaves. McCree and you stand up. McCree heads to the door. 

“Wait for me outside, I have to talk to Morrison,” you say quietly.

“All right.” He steps out into the hallway, closing the door with him. 

You study Morrison. His hand holds a black ballpoint pen loosely, eyes in a game of closing and opening. You remember seeing him in the shooting range early in the morning. Now it’s nearly the next day. You frown at him. You go to the couch near the back of the office and grab a black blanket off of it. You had stored it there, a few months back, after discovering his crazy habit of round-the-clock working. 

You wrap it around him. He flinches at your touch before relaxing as he feels the plush blanket.

“y/n...” he mumbles.

You shush him. “You need to get to bed soon, I mean it,” you demand. 

He rubs his chin but continues to write. “I can’t.” 

“You’ll be up again at five. Don’t make yourself feel like shit, get some sleep.” 

He shook his head. 

You grind your teeth. You sit in front of him and plaster a gentle smile on your face. 

“Please?” you implore. “For me?” 

“Fine.” Morrison puts the pen down. Eyes fluttering closed as he stands up, tottering over to the couch. It would probably be a small nap, but you’re glad he’s resting.

“Goodnight, old man,” you intone. He snorts in response and you leave, shutting the door quietly. Time to drink!

McCree waits outside the door. He leans on the wall, clutching his tie in his left hand. You eye the balled up red tie. You liked it on him.

“So where are we headed, darlin’?” McCree asks. He follows you as you tread to your destination. Your room. Stocked with all your favorite drinks.

“My room. I almost have a fully stocked bar in there,” you joke. Although, your minibar does have a myriad of alcoholic drinks in there. You smuggled it in a while back with the help of your ladies-in-waiting.

He snickers. “Spoken like a true alcoholic.” 

You stuck out your tongue and laugh. “I guess so.”

Your room is stark. A bed is located on the left of the room; it’s plain and white. The duvet that covered the bed was there when you had gotten the room. You never changed it to something else. A white wooden desk stood near the bed. It had ice skates and a few files on top. The minibar was in front of the bed and held all your burning liquors. No posters or photos hang on the walls and no rugs lay on the floor. Your open bathroom door had the only life in it; makeup and various hair products were scattered on the sink. 

“Wow,” McCree says as he surveys the room, “There’s nothin’ in here at all.” 

He walks to the desk and picks up the white skates. A lilac skate guard covers the blade. They’re probably still cold. You skated all day until you were forced to get ready for the mission. You grin at them.

“You skate?” 

“Yep.” You beam. You grab the skates, which were indeed still ice cold, from him and put them under the desk. 

“Enough about skating.” You wave your hand and go to the minibar. “I promised you a drink.”

He sits on your bed; it dips from his weight. “What do you have in there?” he asks.

“Scotch, whiskey, vodka.” You smirk as you open it. “Basically, everything.”

McCree whistles, giving a once-over to all the different brands of liquors and beers. While he inspects the whiskeys, you go over to your closet. You kick off your heels. You roam into the bathroom and take off your heavy earrings. You glance in the mirror. Dark circles rest under your eyes and your foundation had flaked off in a few areas. You take a makeup wipe and remove all of your makeup off. 

You hear a clink from the bottles and turn to McCree. He took a rather cheap one, but you thought it tasted pretty good. You grab it from him and get two whiskey glasses. You gaze at the crystal glass; you had forgotten you bought two of those glasses. Two. The corners of your lips turn down. You ignore the empty feeling in your heart and instead pour the honey-colored liquor into the glasses.

“Here you go.” You hand him the drink. 

He accepts the drink. “Thank ya kindly,” he says.

You take a sip of yours, welcoming the warm liquid burn down your throat and chest. Your eyes scan the room. There was nowhere to sit but the tiny uncomfortable chair that’s pushed into the desk or the bed. You really needed to get a loveseat or a plush living room chair. You thought you saw one on sale a while back. You decide to have Phina order a cheap one tomorrow.

You sit beside him and a ghost of a smile haunts your lips. “No problem.” 

The two of you sip your drinks in silence. You didn’t know what to say to him. Nice weather? That guy we were chasing today had a grenade, and he totally didn’t know what the hell he was doing? 

“Ya know, you and 76 seem close.” He took another drink of his whiskey, turning his gaze to you. “What’s that all about?”

You bit your lip. 

“Uh, just known him for a bit.” You watch as he cocks his head. His focused, tired eyes trying to probe your mind. 

“You know, you look really good in a suit, McCree,” you flatter. “I mean like really good in a suit. Why don’t you wear those more often?” 

His eyebrows knit together. Giving you a shaky smile, he shrugs at your question. 

“Dunno.” McCree shifts his weight in the bed, “They’re just so uncomfortable.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m the same way with high heels.” You glanced at your closet. Dresses sucked too. You loathe them. 

You chew your lip. “Dresses too,” you mumble.

McCree’s eyes widen. 

“Really? All I ever see ya in is dresses,” he marvels. 

“That’s because you only see me during espionage missions,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder. “I like graphic tees, sweaters, and all that other comfortable shit.”

“And here I thought, all ya liked was dresses and frills,” he chuckles. He takes a final swig of his drink and puts the glass down on the desk.

You finish your drink as well, placing it near his. You make a sour face at him.

“Dresses and frills are terrible things!” you proclaim. “I can’t train in them and they just seem to gravitate attention onto me.”

“I don’t think it’s the dresses,” McCree whispers, looking away from you. 

“Anyway,” you wave your hand, “I better see this suit on you for the next mission.” You lopsidedly grin. “And that red tie! It’s such a good color on you.”

“Anything for ya, pumpkin.” He winks at you. Your eyes grow wide. Ears heating on your already warm face. “I’d love to talk some more with ya sweet pea, but sleep is callin’ for me.”

“Well then, goodnight McCree,” you say, standing up to follow him to the door. He opens the door up and exits.

“Hey, McCree,” you say, scrutinizing your tan wooden floor, “You’re welcome back here anytime.”

“Then I’ll be back soon,” he declares and ambles away.

You close the door. Patting your warm cheeks, you pick out your pajamas from the closet. You sigh. Hopefully, he would stop asking questions about yourself.


	3. The Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes widen. Someone's out to torment you. "Oh, right, I guess I have forgotten. Let's begin then."
> 
> Practice is about to be a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I've been super busy with my art projects for school! Thanks for reading~
> 
> Also anything in past tense is a flashback.

The shooting range chilled you to the bone. The air conditioner harshly blasted cool air onto you. Sure. Your charcoal tank top and baggy shorts you donned probably is making you cold. It was the only athletic clothes that Phina could find. So you made the best of it. The kingdom currently thought you’ve been abducted by Talon, but that plan was a bit of a flop.

You narrowed your eyes. A grimace etched your face as those terrible memories forced their way into your brain. No. You won’t reminisce about it. You squinted at a target; you imagine that it’s a memory. You clutched your pistol; finger seizing the trigger.

Bang!

You shot it down in one shot. A trace of a smile flickered onto your face. Perfect. You were doing okay. You performed a somersault and landed near another target. You pointed and fire. Your grin deepened. You shot more moving targets, all the bullets hit their mark and knock the target down. 

You caught your breath as you watched some smoke ascend out of the burning barrel. Smelling the gunpowder mingled with perspiration soothed you. You moved onto the nonmoving targets. Time for some further aim practice. 

“Damn,” you muttered. Three out of five shots. 76 declared that he’d only let you stay if you were perfect. This isn’t perfect. 

You dropped your gaze and reload the gun. Sure he said that he’d evaluate you in a few days. But maybe he was lying? Maybe he would kick you out now. You weren’t fit to be an Overwatch hero. You bit your lip.

“Fine work, soldier,” someone remarked. Your eyes snapped to the red visor. He’s leaning onto the wall next to you, arms folded as he eyes you. Wow. When did he get there?

You cocked your head. “Really? I missed a few shots.” 

He shrugged. “You’ve improved so much in only a few weeks,” he said. He walked over to you and pulled out a file from his jacket. You raised your eyebrows. 

“After weeks of training and uh.” He paused. “After finding you in such a horrible state.” You lowered your gaze.

Horrible state? You were so close to dying. You squeezed your eyes shut. The crimson blood, yours, it was everywhere. Pools and pools of that ruby liquid, it covered you; it covered the floor. That stench. A powerful iron fume tangled with your sweat. The pain in your body too. Your wrist. It was aching and the cracking noise when he twisted it; it had to be broken. Your head throbbed. Everything ached...

“Anyway, welcome to Overwatch, y/n.”

You beamed as tears spill out of your eyes. Solider 76 handed you the file and you gratefully took it. In the file, it had a paper that showed you are truly a member. You embrace him. He stiffened before returning your embrace.

“Thank you, 76,” you murmured. You didn’t know how it would work. Being both royalty and an Overwatch member, but you would do it. Even if it broke you. You drew away and hugged the file.

First, you had to go back to the kingdom. You’d have to pretend like Talon attempted to kidnap you, that it wasn’t actually a tale you had made up. You’d needed to look fearful. It’s a good thing you’re a great actor.

“y/n?” you hear someone say.

“Huh?” You snap out of your memories. A tiny teardrop rolls down your face. You’re still thankful that Morrison gave you a chance at some freedom. It’s a lot more than others have given and it has made you so much brighter. 

“What’s the matter?” Morrison asks, lowering his rifle. 

“I was thinking about the day I became a member.” You wipe the tear away and watch Morrison. 

It’s five in the morning. Every weekend, when you could finally be in the Overwatch base, Morrison and you would train. An amazing custom that began when he said he’d let you stay and train you. You two would practice until nine in the morning until Morrison would have to go be a commander. Sometimes he wasn’t there as he was doing his own missions, on those days you didn’t even bother to train and instead would skate all day.

Morrison’s arms hold the rifle firmly. His muscles are rigid as he surveys you. You both usually started with aim practice and then did some sparring. You had started without him today, knowing he’d be a little late like always. But you still got ensnared in your thoughts. 

“It’s been a few months since then.” Morrison raises his pulse rifle up and glances away from you to fire at the target.

“Yeah, it has been.” You lift your pistol up and shoot beside Morrison. 

Though it’s been months, you can’t shake the memories that slither into your mind. The blood... The pain... The stench of metal. The laughing.

Oh god. 

It overflows into your mind before you can stop it. The scene goes through your head and you can almost sense yourself there. They say you can’t remember pain, but you swear you can still imagine your heart, mind, and body shattering in two. 

You’re panting hard. Eyes wide and pupils dilated. Your head pangs and you’re quivering. Morrison cries out your name, but you can’t seem to get away from this state. Confined in your thoughts. Strangling in your own recollections as Clair de Lune lulls in your ears.

You gasp as you peer into the void that was once so familiar.

Those eyes...

Dark coffee eyes that couldn’t disobey even through the myriad of times that they swore they would.

Your body reels up, beads of sweat coat you from head to toe, and you gasp. You take a few breaths to steady your heavy breathing. You examine your surroundings, you’re not in the training quarters anymore, you’re in Mercy’s infirmary. A woven blanket is laid on top of you and a damp chill cloth that was once on your head, now rests at your lap. 

Mercy glides into the room, holding another rag, she pauses as she regards your consciousness. She softly smiles at you.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, y/n?” she inquires. She swaps you the warm rag for the cold cloth. You lean back, setting it on your aching forehead.

“I’m okay...” You cross your arms. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what had occurred. 

“That’s great news,” she muses as she watches you. “Jack carried you in, said you collapsed and hit your head hard. He’s been very worried.” 

Your eyes widen. Morrison was worried about you? Usually, it was you who was the anxious one. Your mind was a bit hazy on why you had fainted, all you can recollect is melodious keys on a piano. You frown.

“I’ll have to thank him later,” you say. “How long have I been out?”

She glimpses at a timepiece. “About an hour or so. You have a bump on the back of your head, otherwise, you’re fine. I don’t know what caused you to faint, though you look exhausted.” She lowers as she examines you.

“Have you’ve been overworking yourself?” She exhales audibly through pursed lips. 

Well... It was true. You were diligently preparing for the gala all week and making sure your victim would indeed attend it. Then you had your lessons, which were painstakingly dull and tedious. To top it all off, your coronation would happen at the end of this year, and all the arrangements you had to do need to be finished. You had to be flawless for it. It was your mother’s last order, and she wasn’t even here anymore.

You’re dancing wrong. You’re not graceful enough. Stop smoothing out your dress and fold your hands behind your back. On and on it went on. It’s as if your mother was still with you as if she was still the puppeteer to your life.

You drop your eyes and nod at Mercy. “Yeah, I have. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t work yourself to death, all right? Your well-being is always important,” She chides, shaking her finger to stress her point. “Now, you can leave the clinic whenever you’re ready too, please take your time.” 

She leaves to attend to other Overwatch members who probably need her care more than you do. Massaging your head, you swing your legs off the bed. Where should you go?

You didn’t hang out with many people, in fact, Morrison and Mei were the only people who knew more than just your name. Genji didn’t count and though Zenyatta knew a lot about you, you didn’t really hang out. Morrison was probably in his office now, and you didn’t want to bother him. Mei, who would freeze the storage room’s floor for you so the two of you could skate, was on a very important payload at the moment.

You prop your hands onto your head. You needed more hobbies. How come you were always so busy in the castle, but had nothing to do here? Maybe you could meditate with Zenyatta. If he was meditating.

You stroll down the halls, wondering where Zenyatta would reflect at. Usually, he was in the courtyard outside. The courtyard was deserted though, no sign of Zenyatta there. Then you thought that maybe he was in his room, but he wasn’t. Maybe he was at Genji’s room? 

You stand in front of Genji’s door. Should you knock? You never really talked to Genji much, only before the two of you mediated with Zenyatta. You fidget with your hands. You were only asking where Zenyatta was. You raise your hand to knock when Hanzo opens the door.

He arches an eyebrow at you before rolling his eyes as he stomps away from Genji’s room. Humph someone has an attitude today. 

Genji clears his throat, you recoil and raise your eyes to look at him. Your cheeks flush and you smooth out the creases in your outfit. 

“I’m... I’m looking for Zenyatta... Do you know where he is?” you mumble, ears turning red too. Though you’ve spoken to many people as a princess, it was different speaking to people who could see your face. 

“He’s in here.” He points behind him. 

You peep behind him and there Zenyatta is. He’s hovering off the ground, head down, mind blank as he meditates. Why was Hanzo in here though? Hanzo avoided Genji like the plague. Was Hanzo really meditating or hanging out with Genji? 

“Can I speak to him?” you ask. Genji nods and lets you through. When you step up to Zenyatta, he bows at you.

“Welcome, y/n. Here to seek for tranquility within yourself?” 

You nod.

“Then sit down.” He gestures to the carpet below. 

You look at Genji. “Is this okay?” 

“Of course,” he replies, kneeling down. You follow his action, gnawing on your bottom lip. 

You shut your eyes, trying to get into a meditative state. You fidget with your shirt. Eyebrows knit together. 

You grate your teeth and your eyes flutter open. 

“Patience will guide you to thought, try again,” Zenyatta encourages. 

You glance at Genji. His chest rising up and down naturally. He always appears so peaceful. Your eyes flutter closed and you inhale deeply in and exhale out. You try not to think of anything of your past and instead look within yourself like how Zenyatta taught you.

When you first got to the base after everything that had happened. He had supported you. Through all the grief and fury that devastated you after the “incident” happened. 

You were in your temporary room, a deserted room that Morrison let you stay in until you determined what you wanted to do. You wouldn’t leave it though, no matter what. Too consumed in the war waging in your mind, to come out and talk to the others. 

You didn’t know who recommended Zenyatta to go speak to you...

You were glad they did.

There was a rap at your door. It was a delicate but sturdy knock. You didn’t respond.

“y/n, if you don’t leave your room, you’ll never experience anything,” he said through the door. 

You sniffled. “Good.”

“Darkness and rage consume you, allow me to guide you towards the light.” 

You profoundly sighed. Your ladies-in-waiting didn’t know where you were, why you left them. Your spirit felt broken. Your heart hurt. Your soul shattered like the mirror in the room that you lied in. 

“It’s too dark, I can’t head back.” You settled your head in your hands.

“That’s okay. There is light even in the dark: in stars, in the moon, and in the dawn when you think that the darkness will engulf you whole.”

“Really? You’ll show me how?” you asked and walked up to the door.

“Only you can do it, but I’ll guide you there.” You opened the door and beamed at him. 

He was different from everyone who showed up in your life. He wasn’t like your mother, the parliament, or anyone else. Someone who cared whether you wanted to open the door.

“I’ll try,” you whispered.

You reflected for a bit with them. Just thinking through life and about the plans for the crowning... Shit! What time was it? You had to be at the castle early today, didn’t you? Even Hanzo and McCree had to be there. 

Your eyes open. The dance rehearsal! God dammit! You spring up from the floor, startling Zenyatta in the process. 

“Sorry, I have to be somewhere!” You power-walk to the door, not even bothering to genuinely apologize.

You had to beat both McCree and Hanzo to the castle, put on a ballgown, look semi-decent, and pick the song you wanted to dance to for the official coronation ball. You sprint to the outside entrance. The is entrance empty except for one person who’s stepping into the building. Your eyes watch the figure.

They’re the same size as you. They don a baseball cap, all the way pulled down, so you can’t see the person’s features. They are also adorned in all black and the clothes didn’t fit the person, you couldn’t tell who they were at all. 

You narrow your eyes. It had to be an agent of Overwatch, who else would know where the base was. It’s likely that they just came from an incognito mission. You chew on the inside of your cheek before departing the base. It would be fine.

You enter your bedroom after scaling into your window. Your ladies-in-waiting, cross their arms as they regard you. Both of their lips pressed into thin, precise lines.

“Lady, y/n! Do you know what time it is? You need to be in the ballroom in thirty minutes,” Phina scolds. Azura is already hauling out the heavy ballgown. 

It’s a poofy, satin fabric. The claret color of it coordinates well with all of your masks. You grimace but let them put it on you. They tightly fasten the back of the dress until your chest feels a tad constricted. Then they tie your hair into a snug braided bun. Phina signals at Azura after she examines the outfit. Azura grabs an ornate noir mask and adjusts it onto your face. 

“All right. You should be good.” Azura grasps some regular black pumps and puts them on your feet.

“Have fun, lady y/n.” They push you out of your room to clean up their messes.

The ballroom is warm. A nice change from the chilling firing range from this morning. Your dancing instructor is in the center of the room. McCree and Hanzo are also in the room, but they stand in a corner, surveying the windows and doors. 

“Let’s get started,” declares the instructor.

You knit your eyebrows together. “What about the music, I haven’t decided yet?” 

“Yes, you have. Yesterday, you told me that you wanted to dance to Clair de Lune,” he explains, gesturing to the orchestra where a pianist was also present. 

Your heart dropped. That haunting melody, like a ghost, it just won’t leave you alone. You weren’t here yesterday. No one should know about that song. No one... 

“I wasn’t... I mean I want to change the song.” You clasp your hands together.

“You told me that no matter what you tell me today, not to change the song,” he says. 

Your eyes widen. Someone’s out to torment you. “Oh, right, I guess I have forgotten. Let’s begin then.”

Practice is about to be a disaster.


	4. The Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You dance silently, constantly glancing down to check your feet. McCree's head leans down to meet your ear.
> 
> "I thought ya said you were good at dancing?" he whispers. Your eyes snap to his steady gaze. 
> 
> "I never said I was good at it, I just enjoy it." You roll your eyes, smirking lightly at your prompt response. You're getting so skilled at lying.

They had assigned him to you when your mother died. For protection. That’s what the parliament said. He was quiet. He never spoke to you. Never even acknowledged you. He always stood near you, always scanning for potential threats. 

You’d watch him sometimes during your lessons. Your cheek laid onto your hand as you watched him from the corner of your eyes. His silhouette was strong and sturdy. His face abundant with scars and he had tan skin that appeared dull and inanimate. Neatly stripped brown hair. Taut muscles were everywhere on him. You’d chew your lip, feeling your cheeks flush, as you’d observed him. You couldn’t help but think naughty thoughts when he was near you.

A little crush. That’s what it was. Just a little lilac growing in your heart. 

At first, he and you would have brief talks. He’d offer a comment about one of your lessons or ask how your parliament meeting went. When you went to balls, he’d tell you how terrible you were at dancing. Which was true, dancing was not a strong suit of yours, but the piano was. 

He wasn’t allowed in your room. Your mother didn’t want men in there, except she couldn’t control you anymore. Apart from your maids and ladies-in-waiting, nobody else could enter there. Therefore, you devised a plan. Well, it was more similar to an impulsive act than a plan.

After your lesson, you strolled with him to your room where he was to drop you off and leave. But, when you neared your room, you didn’t, surprisingly, want to say goodbye.

“Can you help me with something?” you asked, the words exiting your lips before you could stop them. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

“I’m not allowed in there,” he stated, you swear you saw a trace of a smirk on his lips. 

“I just need to know if I sound okay for my piano recital.” It was a lie. You had no recital, surely he wouldn’t know that. 

“Fine, I’ll listen,” he said. You beamed and unlocked your door to your room. 

He sauntered in observing your bedroom. Your neat, organized room. Your books were piled in their shelves, arranged by title. All of your valuable papers stayed on your hardwood desk. Near your piano, sat a long mauve portfolio, it contained all your sheet music. You went towards it. You grasped the folder, opening it to pull out all of your music. Sifting through the music, you hummed a soft tone. Now what to play for him. Mozart? Beethoven? Vivaldi? It had to be exceptional.

He leaned over your shoulder to read the music. You stopped humming and your hands quivered as you clutch the folder. You could feel his hot breath on your the nape of your neck. You shivered even though your body grew flushed, cheeks dusted pink. 

“You should play this one.” He pointed to a haunting song. One of your favorites. Clair de Lune. 

You unclasped it from the folder, still shaking as you sat on the bench. He sat in your desk chair, regarding you with a strong gaze. You swallowed and stretched your fingers. You placed the sheet on the music rack. Your fingers rested on the white keys, closing your eyes, you played. Fingers danced on the keys as the music vibrated in your soul.

He deeply exhaled and the corners of his lips turned slightly upward. “That was impressive.”

Your cheeks burned and there was this tight feeling in your chest. “You think so?” you asked.

“Way better than your dancing.” He chuckled as he stood up from your chair. You frowned, a slight pout forming on your lips. 

“You should dance with me at the following ball, Gabriel.” You simpered, and stood up yourself, drawing close to him.

He tensed up before shrugging at you. “And get stepped on? I don’t know,” he teased, moving closer to you until you were chest to chest.

“How could I convince you?” you asked. Your eyes trailed from his eyes down to his lips. 

I think there is one way," he said in a trembling voice as his face leaned in closer.

He shakily exhaled out before his lips crash onto yours. Your eyes widened as your heart reeled in your chest. Your arms enclosed around his shoulders, meeting the kiss. He pulls his lips from yours, breathless, studying you with his umber eyes before he kissed you once again. 

That stupid song. You grimace as you snap out of your thoughts. Tears forming in your eyes. You’re waltzing with your dance instructor, occasionally stepping on him with your feet. You’re off tempo and can’t even do the fundamental steps. 

The dance instructor presses his lips together. “Focus your highness, we aren’t leaving here until this is perfect,” he exasperates.

You sigh. “Surely, it doesn’t have to be perfect?” You release his hands to smooth out your dress. He lowers his head, muttering something, and then raises it quickly. 

“Obviously us dancing together isn’t teaching you.” He turns to face Hanzo and McCree. “How about one of you assist her so we can leave?” he inquires, gesturing to you. 

“I’ll do it, seems like fun,” McCree says with a dimpled grin. He meanders over to you. “How about it, your highness?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, but you nod. The dance instructor grins and grabs your right hand placing it into McCree’s left hand. Then he takes your left and places it on McCree’s shoulder, doing the opposite for McCree. 

“Now you’ll guide her, left foot moves first,” the dance instructor explains. 

You watch his feet as he does what he’s told. McCree follows the steps intently almost as if he relishes the practice. You knit your eyebrows together, trying to follow McCree to the best of your abilities. Your right foot travels backward and slides to join the left. 

“There you go, your highness,” the dance instructor remarks. He claps his hands, and the symphony plays a slower version of Clair de Lune to waltz correctly. 

You dance silently, constantly glancing down to check your feet. McCree’s head leans down to meet your ear.

“I thought ya said you were good at dancing?” he whispers. Your eyes snap to his steady gaze. 

“I never said I was good at it, I just enjoy it.” You roll your eyes, smirking lightly at your prompt response. You’re getting so skilled at lying. 

“You said it was your thing, didn’t ya?” he returns. He adjusts his hand at your shoulder. Your hand that rests in his is sweaty. You glance in the other direction.

“I want it to be my thing, so I just said it was my thing.” A ridiculous lie surely, but he nods and doesn’t say another word.

You dance to the tempo for a few minutes before letting go of McCree and narrowing your eyes at your instructor. 

“Is it perfect yet?” you ask. 

“Yes, we’ll start adding advanced moves in the ensuing week.” He turns to grin at McCree. “You should help our restless princess next week too. I guess she only prefers to dance properly with her guards.” He chuckles, walking over to stop the symphony and comment about their tempo.

McCree raises his eyebrow. “What’s he mean by that?” 

You cross your arms and put your palm to your throbbing temples. It was kinda true at this point having danced alright with McCree and Gabriel... Your heart throbs for a split instant. You shake your head to clear away your thoughts

You wave your hands at McCree. “It doesn’t matter,” you answer. “The two of you are excused, it’s Sunday, so you’re free to leave the grounds.” 

You clasp your hands together. “Now, if I may, I’m leaving,” you declare before striding out the ballroom to proceed to your bedroom.

Your eyes widen as you open your bedroom door. “Gabe?” you murmur. 

The window in your room is open, your red curtains blow in the harsh winds. Reaper sits at your desk, his mask off, and his black cloak stained with crimson. Your hand clenches to a fist, but you stay there, gawking at him. He turns to gaze at you, lips pressed together, blood streaming out of a cut on his forehead. On his armored shirt, you notice a huge gash on his chest, hidden by the ripped fabric. 

“Mi alma,” he begins with a raucous voice, hissing as he attempts to stand. 

“Gabe... Reaper, shit, don’t stand up,” you blurt out. He sits back down with a grunt. You rush to his side to examine his injuries closer. 

“I wanted to see you.” He removes your mask and grabs your hand.

You roll your eyes. “And Saturday wasn’t enough?” you scoff, yanking your hand away from his. He frowns. 

You walk into your bathroom to prepare some gauze, cotton balls, and alcohol before returning to him. He’s silent as you pour the alcohol on the cotton. You peer up at him to steal a glimpse at his brown eyes. He grimaces, grating his teeth as you clean both wounds. He chuckles as you pull out the gauze. You cock your head to the side, lifting your eyebrows up.

“Just like old times, mi alma,” he responds.

“No, it’s not like old times. You’re lucky that you came here injured or else you’d be gone by now,” you seethe as you glower at him. “And I’m not tu alma, we’re acquaintances now.”

You ignore his presence as you try to calm down the horrific images that tear into your head. He pulls the cloak off. You help him take off his shirt so you can wrap the gauze onto his chest wound. You clothe the wound carefully, so you don’t hurt him. He snakes his arms around your waist. You freeze. He’s watching you intensely.

He clenches his jaw. “Forgive me, y/n” he urges. He had to bring it up. You just want to forget that night. But it flashes before your eyes before you can stop it.

“No. Get out of my room,” you fume, pushing his hands away. He doesn’t leave. Your fists shake.

“Please forgive me, y/n.”

“Get out of here, reaper,” you shriek. There are tears spilling out of your eyes.

He winces. His jaw locked tight as he grimaces at you.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me later when I can’t protect you.” He tautly says. He disappears in a cloud of inky black smoke. 

Humph. You wipe your tears away. Stupid organizations, stupid crown, and stupid men. You walk out to your balcony in a daze. Staring up in the dark sky, you try to soothe your feelings. 

You still sob as you access what you should do next. This week would be easy. You had lessons, a meeting with Parliament, and some famous seamstresses would come over to design a gown for your coronation.

A tiny ring bellows out in the quiet night. You flinch before reaching for your phone. It’s a simple text from Morrison. 

You have a reconnaissance mission tomorrow. I know you don’t like weekdays, but we’re short on agents. Sharpen up those shooting skills and don’t exert yourself.

It’s brief and straight to the point, something you would definitely expect from him. You smile at the sentiment even though you’re internally freaking out. 

You gawk at the phone. What to write back? Thank you, but I really can’t? You sigh, you couldn’t say no. He only knew you as an agent of Overwatch, not a monarch of some pretentious kingdom. He even allowed you to work solely weekend missions because you begged him too. What a mess.

Alright. I’ll be there. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. You lean on the fence that encases your balcony. You comb through the calendar imprinted into your mind: you had a daily lesson at eleven, a parliament meeting at one, and to top it all off you had to deal with the planning of your coronation after that.

You chomp down on your cheek hard, blood filling the root of your mouth at a rapid pace. 

Someone had to take your place... You grimace at the thought. No. Absolutely not. 

You pace around the balcony as a brisk breeze goes through you. You’d act sick. Proclaim that only Azura and ‘Phina is to enter your room and take care of you. You’d have to reschedule the Parliament meeting and your teacher would just hold double lessons the next time you see him. The coronation could wait, it’s not like you cared, plus you might be there in time to help plan it.

You rub your temples as you welcome the well-known throb in your head. It was going to be a long day. You grasp your mask and adjust it onto your face. You had to go tell Azura and ‘Phina the plan.


	5. The Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of this wasn’t a problem at all. Never will be. You could problem solve. Tricking the Parliament was simple. You’ve scaled and snuck out since you were a little girl. You’ve recalled many painful memories, and you manage just fine. However, having Morrison trick you and drag you to some abandoned frozen lake to interrogate you is an obstacle that you’re struggling with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited some past chapters and finally updated some more!

The Parliament never wanted to let you rest. No. A dutiful queen would not take a day off because she was ill, notably, if she could still talk, walk, and bark off orders like the dependable queen she was. It took too much convincing. You spent hours reading out loud in the night until your voice emitted croaky and gravely words that shot pain to you when you even uttered a breathy whisper. It crossed off two out of the three stipulations of taking a day off. But, you could walk, and if you could do that, you’d have to be present for your meticulous lesson and go to the meeting with Parliament. 

The fact that you convinced them that your muscles ached and that even standing ripped violent pangs to your limps was unexpected. Then when Azura ushered the reluctant members of Parliament out of your somewhat tidy room was even more stunning. They wanted to at least go through some of the meeting there in your bedroom regardless if you were truly sick or not. They had left only when convinced that you sleeping was better than risking your health. You were the only heir after all.

Sneaking out wasn’t an issue, you crept out of your balcony window with a graceful movement. You scaled down the dark castle walls with ease. The deceitfulness of lying to the ones who trap you in the birdcage of royalty gave you a rush of adrenaline. The thought of being caught raced in your mind and brought back a familiar unpleasant memory. But you did your best to ignore the flashes of it all. A single tear rolled down your cheek fleeing before you could wipe it away. 

All of this wasn’t a problem at all. Never will be. You could problem solve. Tricking the Parliament was simple. You’ve scaled and snuck out since you were a little girl. You’ve recalled many painful memories, and you manage just fine. However, having Morrison trick you and drag you to some abandoned frozen lake to interrogate you is an obstacle that you’re struggling with.

You had a reconnaissance mission tonight. You could’ve done all of your duties before you even went into the base. Morrison thought you needed a well-deserved break. The sentiment was cloyingly sweet, but it left a sinking pit in your stomach like something awful was about to happen. 

He brought you to the lake because he saw you ice skating with Mei before and you seemed to enjoy it. Which was true, you relished it more than anything in this world. The way he was grilling you though, asking you all of these personal questions, had ruined any delight that drifted into your heart when your eyes landed on the ice. 

You’re gazing at the chilling crystal as you glide around the lake in wide circles. It’s a simple question. You’ve never thought about it before, a favorite color? Red is the color of a sparkling ruby but also the color of the blood that seeps its way into your nightmares. Blue is the color of the liberating sky that mocks you every single day. Black is the color of the mask that haunts you where ever you go. Purple is putrid. 

You could think about terrible colors all day long.

You exhale deeply. “I don’t have a favorite color.” Your eyes flicker to Morrison.

He rests on a dirty stump near the frozen lake, hands clasped together as he bends forward. His steady eyes watching your feet cut through the frost and create specks of tiny synthetic snowflakes that dust the ice behind you. He refuses to skate with you even though he brought his own pair of skates, telling you that he’s fine just watching. 

“What’s your favorite color, Morrison?” you ask as you pick up your pace as you prepare for a lay-back rotation.

With no hesitation, he says, “red, white, and blue.” 

You roll your eyes and arch your back. You drop your head, reaching your hands to the open sky, as you whirl on the ice. 

“How nationalistic,” you tease, “are you sure those are your favorite colors?” 

He scratches his chin. “I’ve never really thought about it this much, I think so.” 

You hum in response before returning to skidding around in a figure eight. He studies you for a moment. Then he continues his ruthless investigation to search for the inner workings of your mind.

“What made you start ice-skating?” he questions. You halt your rhythmic flow and stop skating. It’s too personal. 

Ice skating is a form of freedom to you. Leaving the castle walls and gliding through the ice during the winter was exhilarating. It was something your mother couldn’t control. She didn’t even know about it. Nobody knew about it. What made you start ice-skating was your father. 

Your dad had given them to you before he died. They were shiny and silver. On the side of the shoes, there was small, intricate white snowflakes speckled around them. He took you ice skating and taught you how to float gracefully through the ice. The snow was so bright and white as it clung to the ground like it was wrapping it in a blanket. Then you two skated for a long time. You close your eyes. What a serene, blissful memory. 

You beam. “Someone showed ice-skating to me.” You shrug your shoulders. “I grew very fond of it.”

“Who showed you it?” 

You glance up at the sky following the sun glide down the sky; the clouds transforming from white to brilliant shades of pinks and oranges. You’ve been tip-toeing around his questions all day. You would not stop now. 

“It’s almost sundown, we need to get back so I can get ready for my mission.” You wave your hands to shake off the question.

You skate to the edge of the lake to get back onto solid ground. As your skates touch the natural powdered snow, Morrison softly grasps your shoulder. You jump at the sudden action.

“I know that I partly tricked you, but you needed a break. After hearing what Mercy said and what you told me yesterday, I just couldn’t help but give you one,” he explains. He drops his hand and sheepishly turns away from you.

You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t talk to Morrison but for only a minute or so. Did you utter something to him while you were unconscious? Can someone even do that when they’re unconscious? 

“Ah, I see. What a thoughtful gesture, Morrison.” You grin at him, still touched that he cares that much about your well-being. “But, I don’t remember talking to you after I fainted.”

“You were talking about how much you wanted a break because of how much your job was getting to you.” He frowns. “You were out of it, it was like you were another person,” he mutters. 

The sinking feeling in your stomach tightens, and a lump settles into your throat. Another person. You knew that person would be back, but to strike you at your job was not what you wanted. Your freedom. Your happiness. You bite the inside of your cheek. They’ve done it once before. You should’ve known better. 

You clench your jaw. “I guess that just shows how much I needed this. Thanks, Morrison. Now, the mission.” You walk away from the lake to get back on base. 

It’s a warm night. Too warm. Your heavy-duty armor clung to your sweaty body and you fan yourself with your gloved hands. You sit on top of an old fishing warehouse that stinks of tuna and salmon. You hold binoculars in your left hand to your unfocused your eyes watching for any Talon activity. 

For some reason, they’re attracted to your dull kingdom. It’s a sea-trading port and made its money through fish and rare technology for the sea. You lower the binoculars and rub your aching forehead. Was there any new weapon technology developed for ships? Your eyes flutter shut before snapping open. There was a new weapon! It’s an automatic steering ship that needed no crew, it could go invisible, and could deploy weapons without being on it. 

You sigh. A lot of the technology on this tiny peninsula is just like that. No wonder they’re here for you and the kingdom.

“You sure been sighing a lot,” McCree comments.

You jump. “Dammit McCree, how long have you’ve been up here?” 

You turn to look at him. He has a lit cigar dangling in his mouth and he’s leaning by the door. McCree was supposed to be inside the building getting intel on what they were exactly doing on that ship. Sure. You already knew, but the recalled Overwatch didn’t. He flicks the cigar off the building and adjusts the ridiculous sailor uniform. He’s disguised as one of the sailors who is preparing ships that are setting sail for trade. He’s supposed to be asking about the new technology for the ships. 

“I needed a break.” He shrugs before walking over to you. He crouches down and gestures to the binoculars. 

You stare at him and he again gestures to the binoculars.

“I’m giving you a break too. Go stretch your legs,” he says. Your hands shake as you hand him the binoculars. You’ve gotten too many breaks today. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. You stand up and stretch your arms to the sky. Your back pops and you feel instant relief. 

McCree lowers the binoculars after he survives the ground for any unwanted trespassers. “Ya know this kingdom is really breathtaking.”

You glance at the view taking it all in. The ocean is to the right of the building. The brilliant blue waves lap at the nearly white sand. There are lush trees and daffodils swaying in the crisp wind. There are crickets chirping and the streets are devoid of people. 

“I guess so,” you say as you sit down next to him. 

He gives you a puzzled smile and you cross your arms. “I grew up here, so it’s too familiar.”

“You’re tellin’ me you’ve never been anywhere else?” His eyebrows raise up as he gapes at you. You shake your head. This princess has never left this little kingdom.

“I don’t know where I’d go if I left.” You pick at your nails as you stare vacantly at the streets. “I wanted to go to Los Angeles.”

“I think you’d like Santa Fe, it’s very quiet there.” He’s staring at the streets too. There’s a faraway glint in his eyes but when he blinks, he returns to your gaze.

You quirk your eyebrow. “You think I like the quiet?” 

“I think so.” 

You smile at him. “You’re very intuitive.” 

You grab the binoculars from him and gaze at the entrance of the building. There’s still no activity good.

The earpiece emits a static noise. “McCree, you had your break now get back to the mission,” Morrison commands from within the earpiece. 

McCree stands up with a chuckle. “I’ll see you in a bit, sweet pea.” 

You roll your eyes and put the binoculars back to your eyes as McCree leaves. You manually zoom the binoculars until you can see Morrison perched in the building directly in front of you. He’s holding his own pair, pointing it to the street. Most likely he’s watching it intently. You imagine his eyebrows pulled in tight as he concentrates. He lowers the binoculars. You notice the glow of his red visor as he moves in the moonlight.

“If you like the quiet, I bet you’d enjoy Indiana,” he says. 

“You were listening to that conversation?” you ask as you shift your position to a more comfortable one. 

“What else am I suppose to do while I sit here?” he retorts with amusement.

“Is that sass?” You grin. You hear McCree let out a hushed snicker. 

“That was definitely sass,” McCree mutters from within the building. Morrison scoffs and scratches his neck. 

“Why’d you want to go to Las Vegas? That’s a very lively place.” Morrison questions. You freeze. 

You wanted to run away with Gabe. You close your eyes as you drift through your memories. He wanted to run away with you too. He told you all about his old home. There was so much to do there. He described how nice it looked when he was younger. 

You hesitate. “Someone told me about it.” 

You hear something fall onto the ground. Your head whips around and you search for what caused the noise. There’s nothing there though. You turn back to your position.

“The same person who showed you ice-skating?” 

You shake your head and lower your eyes. “No.” 

He says something to you. You try to ask him to repeat himself when a loud thud echoes from his roof. You raise the binoculars to your eyes but they’re blacked out. Your breathing hastens. Stupid fucking technology. You hit the binoculars against your hand and then raise them back to your eyes. A purple skull pops on the screen and someone chuckles.

You stand up and turn around. Your eyes dart around the empty roof. Still nothing. 

“Morrison?” you call out. 

No answer. You open your lips to call for McCree but a hand rips the communicator from your ear, scratching you in the process. You gasp as your tormentor reveals herself to you. The purple skull makes sense to you now. Sombra’s been fucking with your gear. 

She leers at you. “Desmisado facil,” she whispers. You pull out your pistol but someone shoots it out of your hand. 

You try to attack her but another person steps out of the shadows and confines you in their arms. They’re the same height as you. You crane your neck to glare at the person, but they hide their face with an extravagant mask. Your eyebrows scrunch together and you mouth a name. They squeeze you hard. You whimper in pain.

Sombra crosses her arms. “Now, since we’ve got the royal highness’s attention, we have a few questions.” 

You narrow at your eyes at her. She raises her eyebrows and a sickening sneer spreads throughout her face. 

“If you don’t talk, we’ll kill them.” Her eyes stare behind you and motions you to follow her gaze.

The person holding you forces you to turn to the horrible scene behind you. Reaper stands behind you. Morrison and McCree’s unconscious bodies are slumped on the ground. Blood streams from McCree’s forehead and a bruise forms on Morrison. Your eyes widen and you stare at Reaper with tears escaping out your eyes.

“Gabe, please don’t do this!” your voice cracks. He pulls his shotguns out of his cloak. You sob. “Gabe, I will never forgive you.” 

The unknown person lets out a small snort and forces you to focus on Sombra. 

“I’ll answer them,” you croak. 

“The boat down there, is there more of them?” 

You gaze at the sky. The wind tosses your hair around. You hope Morrison called for backup. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“Where are the rest of those boats?” She pulls up a mini holograph computer and furiously types on it.

You grind your teeth. You see someone climb up to the roof in the corner of your eye. You take a deep breath in and slowly exhale out. 

“I... I don’t know,” you mumble. Sombra eyes you and frowns. 

An arrow strikes your captor's hand. They loosen their grip and you lodge your elbow right into their masked face. They reel back and you run to your unconscious team. Reaper snarls as he teleports away. Sombra turns invisible. Genji throws a shuriken at the unknown person. They run away and Genji follows after at a fast pace. 

You crouch down to inspect Morrison and McCree’s wounds. You did this. You ruined the mission for everyone because of your title. Because of your own selfishness. You wipe the tears that roll on your cheek as you sob. 

Hanzo puts a hand on your shoulder. “Morrison called for backup, it’ll be all right.” 

You nod. “Is Mercy on her way?” You sniffle and he frowns. He holds at his hand and helps you stand up.

“She’s in Numbani right now, Baptiste’s on his way. You should go back to base if you’re okay.” He rubs his temples. “It’s going to be a long night.”   
-  
You climb up your window and head into your room. You take all the armed clothing off of your body and throw it in your closet. You yawn and put on a cotton nightgown. You open a hollow book and grab the honey liquor from within it. You take a huge gulp and stroll to your piano. 

There’s a bouquet of yellow carnations resting on the piano keys. You pick them up and read the card next to them.

I know who you are.


	6. The Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gabriel, what a surprise,” you say.

A loud audible gasp wakes you up. Your eyes flutter open to see ‘Phina and Azura’s eyes wide open as they stare at the scene before you. Your head lies on the piano keys, raising your throbbing head up, you copy their reaction.

Your room is disgusting. Yellow petals are scattered everywhere along with empty bottles of whiskey and vodka. This will be the last time you combine dark and light liquors together. There’s a ripped black lace gown on the floor and the picture of Gabriel and you is split in two.

You hold the torn fabric to your frame, gazing at the picture. The two of you were dancing. His eyes were on yours and he had a tiny smile on his face. The dress you were wearing now shredded by your own hands.

‘Phina wraps her arms around you. “It must have been a hard mission last night,” she whispers into your ear. Azura softly smiles at you and then bends down to collect the liquor bottles.

“Hanzo called earlier and said that McCree couldn’t come in today. He said that Genji would take his place today,” Azura informs.

‘Phina releases you and helps Azura clean up. You stand up, looking for your phone. It’s on the bed. You step out on the balcony watching the garden. There are a few missed calls from Morrison and one from an unknown number. You smooth out your nightgown as you hit Morrison’s number.

It rings twice before he picks up.

“Are you all right? Is McCree all right?” You pace around the cramped balcony, gnawing your cheek.

He’s silent for a moment. “Where are you?” he hoarsely asks.

Your eyes dart around the garden, believing he could see you at this very second. Your heart speeds up.

“I’m ice skating.” you finally say.

He mutters something. “No, you’re not.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “What do you want, Morrison?”

“I wanted to talk to you, but you’re never here.” He sighs. “I actually don’t know where you are, are you at some rink?”

Thank god. You rub your temples, glancing at your ladies-in-waiting. “Do you want to talk there?” you question.

“Yes.”

You discuss details with him: where to meet, what time you should expect to see him, and you told him to bring his skates. You told Azura and ‘Phina what you had to do. They disapproved. Balance the two or quit. You have responsibilities and a duty to your kingdom.

The rink you go to is empty. Not surprising considering it was seven in the morning. You lace the skates onto your feet. You do a few laps on the ice, grinning at the sound of the blades cutting the ice.

Morrison enters the rink nonchalantly. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes and a baseball cap pulled down to hide his features. He takes the glasses off and you skid to a stop. Deep circles lay under his red eyes. You knew right away he’d didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.

“You look like shit,” you say, gliding to him.

He chuckles as he puts his own pair of skates on the ground. “Feel like it too.”

You cross your arms. “What’s on your mind?” you ask.

He sits on a bench and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was up all night discussing Talon. We think there’s a spy at the base.”

Your eyes widen. A spy? Who would betray such a just organization? You rest your hand on his shoulder. “Talon has been everywhere,” you say.

He peers up at you and a trace of a smile settles on your face. “Let’s just skate and forget about espionage,” you say, squeezing his shoulder.

He glances away, his cheeks flush. “I don’t know how to skate,” he confesses.

Your smile deepens. “It’s easy, I’ll teach you.”

He fastens his skates onto his feet. You drag him into the rink, explaining how to lap around the rink. He shakily slides his skates on the ice. He moves a few inches and slips, falling onto his butt. You laugh at him as you drift to him.

You hold out your hand. “You’re hopeless,” you tease. Morrison rolls his eyes. He grabs your hand and you pull him up. “Let’s skate together until you get the hang of it.”

The two of you slowly skate around the tiny rink. You close your eyes, still holding his hand as he tries not to fall down again. The only noise was Morrison’s shoes carving into the ice. You gaze up at him. His eyebrows scrunch together, mouth slightly frowning, eyes watching the ice. You smile at him.

He catches you staring as he lifts he head up to glance at you. “What?” he asks, returning the smile.

You chew your lip, your ears warming up. “I think it’s cute how focused you are,” you blurt out, tucking a hair behind your hair.

His eyes widen and yours follow suit. You have a problem. A princess should never speak her mind. Smile and nod. Your cheeks never felt hotter.

“Really?” he questions. His voice strained. You slowly nod. He holds your hand tighter but says nothing further. He returns his focus on the ice and continues to observe the ice.

You frown, lowering your head to peek at your interlocked hands. You felt so... so strange. You wanted him to say something. You scrunch your nose. But what did you want him to say?

The two of you do two more laps before Morrison picks up the pace. You let go of his hand and cheer him on as he continues to skate without faltering. He coasts to a stop and cockily grins at you.

“You’re getting good at this.”

“I’m a fast learner,” he says, winking at you and pulls your arm to join him.

You giggle, following him through the ice.

Your bedroom is quiet when you enter through the balcony. ‘Phina sits on the bed as she chats with someone who’s turned away from you, sitting on the piano bench. Your eyes widen as he turns to you, brown eyes meet yours. Damn it.

“Look who I found, your favorite castle guard.” ‘Phina stands up, clasping her hands together to bow.

You shakily close the windows. “Gabriel, what a surprise,” you say. You turn back towards them, a fake smile etching onto your face.

He crosses his arms, a cocky grin, much like Morrison’s, finds its way onto his stupid pale face. “Your Highness.”

You look at ‘Phina. “Excuse us, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

‘Phina bows again before leaving the room, closing the door with her. It wasn’t her fault, you never told your ladies-in-waiting he was a talon member. You didn’t tell them a lot of things: you didn’t get kidnapped by Talon, you still liked Reaper even if he didn’t take chances, and your kingdom... well your kingdom was a different story. It was probably your fault Reaper is visiting you.

“Why are you here?” you fume, fists bawling up as you glare at him.

He shrugs, standing up to get nearer to you. “You already know,” he says.

The same as every time he visited you. You clench your jaw, peering at the piano keys. He missed you. “Did you send the flowers?”

He crinkles his nose, deep tan lines pop up around his skin. “Flowers?” he questions. You nod. “No, I didn’t.”

You stand face to face, a quiet silence filling the room. “You called me again,” he says, reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away but you frown.

“You were crying. Super drunk too like every time you call me.” He strokes his thumb on your interlocking hand. You wince, closing your eyes.

“You were asking me why I-“

“Don’t,” you warn, grinding your teeth, feeling tears roll down your cheek.

“why I hurt you,” he continues. Images flood into your mind, an unhuman sob escaping from your lips. “I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll let you stay for the day if you don’t talk about it,” you beg.

He grimaces, raising his cool hand to your face wiping away tears. “You need to know why it happened.”

You clench your jaw, breathing heavily out of your nose. “I don’t want to know.” You lower your eyes. “It doesn’t matter why you did it because you still did.”

His face falls, exhaling loudly through his mouth. “It’s important, not only for you but for your kingdom,” he implores.

“Then tell me when I’m drunk.” You grab a mask from your vanity, fastening it to your face to hide your expressions.

He grinds his teeth. “I did but your always blackout drunk.” He sighs. “Fine. I won’t tell you anything yet.” He walks over next to you, grabbing one of your metallic black masks. “Who’s guarding you today?”

“Genji and Hanzo,” you answer. “It doesn’t matter, nobody knows who you are.”

He settles the mask into place. “Genji does,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows, but don’t question him. He never tells you anything about his past.

“People will wonder why you’re wearing that,” you say, walking to your closet to pick out a dress.

He crosses his arms. “If anyone asks it’s in solidarity for my future queen,” he says.

The rest of the morning, Reaper follows you around as you do pointless tasks around the castle. The parliament meeting is at five, you have a lesson at three, and right now you are on your way to meet the tailor for your coronation gown.

Many people stare at Reaper with puzzling expressions as they hurry through the bustling halls busy with chores and other tasks. He follows behind you as you maneuver the halls to find the secluded seamstress room.

The dress isn’t finished yet. It needs a few more adjustments on the size and the train still has to have lace on it. You stare at it in the mirror as it hugs your curves. The dark forest green silk fabric and the gold lace that wrapped around the mesh sleeves is breathtaking. It’s so fucking beautiful.

The tailor rattles on about the process of making the dress, pushing pins into various parts of the dress. She then talks about how gorgeous you’ll look on your coronation and how excited she is to see the queen’s crown again.

You smooth out the dress, glancing at Reaper. He insisted on staying in the room as the tailor worked on the dress. Reaper’s eyes give nothing away, his expression hidden by the mask. You bite your lip.

“What do you think?” you ask him.

You watch his eyes stare at your reflection in the mirror. “It looks beautiful.”

Your eyes snap back to the dress. “It does.”

After you finish all of your duties for the day, the two of you headed back to your bedroom. Reaper sits on your bed, eyes closed as he listens to the haunting melody. It was a while since you last practiced the piano and it was an even longer time that you last played Clair de Lune.

Your head is cocked to the side, fingers dancing across the keys in a rhythmic pattern. Your eyebrows are scrunched together, teary eyes closed. You listen to the sound carefully. Your eyes open and you abruptly stop.

“We should run away together,” you say, gazing at him.

His eyes widen. “We can’t.” He frowns, you stand up from the piano bench and sit next to him on the bed.

“Talon won’t catch us this time, nobody will know anything at all, I’ll fake being kidnapped by Talon, we can go to Los Angeles, get different identities, you could show me where you grew up at...”

“We can’t, y/n.” he grabs your shaking hands. You stop talking, closing your mouth. “You remember what happened. I can’t leave and you can’t leave,” he tells you softly.

You pull your hands away from him, glaring at him. “You can leave, but you won’t,” you hiss, crossing your arms. You peer down at the floor and huff. You clench your fist, unclenching it with a long exhalation. “What happened that day?”

“Do you really want to know, mi alma?” he asks.

You nod.


End file.
